


Poetic Injustice

by Reavv



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Ambiguous Protagonist - Freeform, Dalish, Found Family, Friendship, Gen, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Interspecies Friendship, Magic, Qunari, Second Person, Spoilers, Stream of Consciousness, interspective, non-canon magic
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-15
Updated: 2015-10-14
Packaged: 2018-03-23 01:22:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3749722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reavv/pseuds/Reavv
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Your magic comes in early, and it is very very strong. You scream as fire licks the aravel, as it blisters your flesh and sparks up into the sky. Your clan screams with you. </p><p>Later, there will be talk of death. Of demons. There will be no later for you.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Introduction by Fire

**Author's Note:**

> A somewhat experimental writing exercise for me. Very self indulgent.

Your magic comes in early, and it is very very strong. You scream as fire licks the aravel, as it blisters your flesh and sparks up into the sky. Your clan screams with you. 

Later, there will be talk of death. Of demons. There will be no later for you. 

Your Keeper bundles you up in elfroot and settles you in the crook of the fastest of the hunter’s arms. He is told to run north, along the river path, and seek out the horned one. 

He goes, and you go, and your moans go with you. 

It takes 3 days.

* * *

The horned one is not dalish, is not even elven. She is qunari; as tall as a mountain to your young self, and twice as overwhelming. If you had the strength to be scared, you would have been. Instead; you sleep. 

When you wake, the hunter is gone. The horned one says you will stay. That she is clan now. She doesn’t understand why you cry, but she holds you all the same. 

Your burns are healed, but the silver scars remain. They bisect your face where your vallaslin might one day have flown. 

She tells you they are beautiful. She shows you where her own silvery marks stretch across lips and hands. When you ask, she says that her people were scared, as your people are scared, and hurt that which made her magic flow. She tells you that your people love you much more then hers did her; and that they do not want you to hurt. 

She is to teach you how not to hurt.

* * *

The first few days you spend in misery. You do not believe her when she says your clan does not hate you, that this is not some sort of punishment. 

She says you will see them again. 

You want to believe, but all you have been told about magic says you should not. Magic that is dangerous to the clan must be banished, as you were banished. 

You do not get around to being afraid of the qunari. She is too gentle, too kind. She makes lights dance for your amusement, she wraps you in the thickest wool at night and sings you stories. 

Her voice is rough, damaged she says, but still beautiful. You fall asleep to her singing about sand and wind and the beauty of a clear lake. When you wake, there is food and more dancing lights. 

Sometimes she will read to you, or tell you about the little forest that surrounds her cottage. 

One night, as the shadows of dancing lights twirl about your head, you ask her about your clan. You ask her about herself. And you ask her about you.

* * *

She tells you that she was a mage under the Qun. That it was not kind to her, or her kin. That when the opportunity arose she ran. She stole a boat from Seheron, ran across the Anderfels, skirting the Tevinter border, all the way into Orlais. 

There she joined a caravan traveling into the Free Marches, and met your clan. 

She tells you that she saved your Keeper once, that she knew your uncle and fought alongside the hunters when needed. 

She says she has no name, but she adopted the moniker of Ari. She says it means people. She says she only even wanted to be people. 

And then she tells you of magic.

* * *

You live in that little cottage for two years. They are peaceful, if wrought with intense study. Your magic is unruly but, the qunari says, not dangerous. 

(-- the “now” is left unsaid, you both feel the scars that magic has wrought) 

You learn to quench the flame, melt the ice, channel the lightning to safe places. She teaches you how to hold, how to release, how to mend. And only when she has taught you all this, does she teach you how to cast. 

She says she was never taught, not truly. That her kind do not train their mages. What she has learned has been through self-study and from the smattering of other mages she has met along her travels. 

Despite this, it works.

* * *

Latter, your clan comes back. You’d seen them before of course, the hunters that trade with Ari, the halla in the fields. Even your Keeper comes, to talk magic and duty and clan with you. 

Eventually though, they come back, and leave. And you go with them. 

You say goodbye to the woman who, in some weird way you had starting thinking of as mother, and watch her tall grey form get smaller and smaller. 

Life goes on.

* * *

Magic isn’t the only thing Ari taught you, although it might be the most apparent. She taught you how to sit still and listen to the wind, how to touch the plants to make them grow the strongest, how to ward against demons, how to shuffle cards so that the hand is always in your favour, how to walk soft and swing high, how to plant your feet and take a hit. She taught you which spices to eat and which vegetables taste the best pickled. 

You don’t ask her how she came to know all these things, some of which is new to even your clan, but when you aren’t looking she will look to the west with sadness in her eyes. 

You don’t know how old she is, but you get the feeling it is old enough to have travelled and learned all there is to know. She says she doesn’t, but if there is anyone who knows the world as well as she does you will bite your tongue. 

And the last thing she teaches you before you say goodbye is that, the best thing you can put your trust in, is yourself. 

She takes you by the shoulders and says, “Little one, the world is hungry out there, but the flame you keep in your heart will light your path as long as you believe it will. Don’t let anyone quench that flame.” 

It is that lesson that you remember the most, when the demons start falling and the shems start pointing swords. You look in the eyes of the shem woman, Cassandra, and your little flame pushes you forward. 

You don’t look back.

* * *

The shem woman talks about guilt and demons and a conclave you only vaguely remember. You go with her because you know there isn’t a choice, not really, but you feel no true malice from her. 

As you walk, you wonder what Ari would do in face of the hole in the sky, whether she would know the way to mend it. You’ve seen her stitch stranger things into a single thread.  
The closer you get, the more the tear pulls at you. It is a hungry thing, impartial in its greed. It tugs at you as a child might though. Your eyes keep sliding towards it, cautious. 

Your little flame drives you forward. 

The shem; Cassandra, keeps one eye on you and one eye on the sky, but her vigilance doesn’t stop the bridge from falling. You tumble down in a shower of brick and stone and bruises. 

The demons come.

* * *

You resolve to call the shem by her name, instead by her race. She fights well, and when the battle ends and she calls you to give up your arms, it requires very little for her to relent. 

You know people far less willing to give up the power they hold over someone else. 

There are more demons, because of course there are. You fight, and as the magic crackles through your fingers you wish Ari was here with you. She would know what to do about it all. 

You think the mark would suit her much better.

* * *

You continue on, towards the camp Cassandra wishes to find. The sound of fighting reaches your ears, and as you crest the top of the slope, you have a moment to be completely shocked at the tear in front of you. 

Smaller than the one in the sky of course, but it pulls and distorts just as much. The demons spill out of it. 

One by one they die, and then the clean faced elf grabs your hand and the tear –

It closes.

* * *

Later, you will push your head between your ears and think. You will let all your doubts, your frustration, your fear pool like water in your mind. You will cup your hands and let them all flow into it, and then you will burn them all away.

The fire that springs into place is as green as the hole in the sky. 

Now though, you don’t have time for thoughts. You have a pride demon to kill.

* * *

The shems of haven all want you to do things for them. They call you herald but they mean servant. Just another elf serving the human masses. 

You would be bitter, but every time you bring someone their lost ring, a missing druffalo, kill the people people think need killed, it makes the flame burn brighter. You are helping yes, but you understand enough to know that that help is what makes your position more and more irreplaceable. Now, even without the mark, you are slowly gaining enough goodwill that whispers of apostate and knife-eared fade. 

You are glad, it had started to become tiresome.

* * *

You avoid Solas. There is something there that – no, he is not what he seems. His stories are nice though, and you make sure to keep your interactions restricted to questions about the fade. You are not so wary as to disregard free knowledge. 

Cassandra you cannot avoid, and eventually you stop trying. She is a good woman, but your opinions differ so much that you have to be careful else you offend. She carefully erases your history and pantheon so that she can raise you up as someone else’s prophet. You wont let her. 

Varric though. Varric you like.

* * *

You go meet the shem’s holy woman, to be told to talk to more holy people, so that you can convince them you are their holy person. The people here only want to talk about two things; the war between the mages and Templars, and the fucking Chantry and its fucking Andraste. 

You are so tired of all these shems. You miss your clan.

* * *

Every time you hear someone mention Andraste, you mutter a curse in elvish. It is not, you think to yourself, because Solas twitches every time you do. That is just a side benefit.

* * *

You go to Val Royeaux. A chantry woman is punched. You watch the Templars leave with no small amount of spite. Everyone keeps saying you have a choice to make, between the Templars and mages, but they do not know that choice was made long ago. 

As if you would seek help from an Andrastian order that would drag you from your clan and keep you in a tower. 

You will go to the mages, who, while not being more righteous in certain matters, is certainly less likely to make you want to stab them in the eye with your staff blade. 

Before you do though, you follow the clues tied to a loosed arrow and meet the most peculiar of elves. You like her; although you get the feel she will not like you.

* * *

You want to go to the mages right away, but things have a way of not going the way you want. First, there are more errands, more banal tasks to complete. There is a party in Orlais that you mostly ignore. The cakes are good, and the Circle mage interesting, in an insulting but powerful way, but you don’t really care. You seem to be rapidly loosing your ability to care. 

There is also a man at your gates, talking about mercenaries and qunari and you go, because you are curious, because you miss Ari, but you are cautious all the same. The things your old mentor told you do not endear you to those of the Qun. The Iron Bull seems all right though, in a way that says he will cheerfully kill you if needed. A spy though, and you resolve to keep a close eye on him. You send a letter to Ari all the same. 

And then there is even more errands to run. Finally you drag yourself away from a castle full of people that think you some sort of god, and trudge your party into Redcliff. You wish no more strange quests. 

Unfortunately there is a magister in Redcliff, because of course there is. There’s a note and mysteries and the stink of lies everywhere you turn. You feel like you should have expected this, but it seems no one else agrees. 

The Tevinter mage though, you don’t expect. Hiding something, your mind says. But nothing you need to know, you amend, watching his hands avert attention, his voice modulated for flippancy. 

And then of course, being a magister isn’t enough, the man in control of Redcliff has to be a cultist too. Just fresh from your encounter in the castle full of different cultist, you can’t help the curl of disgust in your gut. 

The spymaster tells you about her suspicions concerning the grey wardens.

* * *

You travel backwards in time. You don’t talk about it.

* * *

You guess Dorian’s ok. He makes you laugh at least, and he was a comfort in the dark future.

* * *

There is a letter awaiting you when you get back. It makes you faint with relief and a melancholic joy. 

It’s a small thing, rough paper and murky ink. When you unfold it, a stack of drawings of plants and landscapes falls out. You pick them up and set them aside. 

The letter itself is short, but it makes the flame in your heart bloom. 

Little one,

I received your message, and although it is always good to hear from you I am saddened to hear of the reasons behind it. Although the conclave was a tragedy, it seems unfair that the humans now expect you to clean up their mess like a nanny would a toddler. An unfortunately apt comparison I’m afraid. The fighting has spread even here, but you need not worry about that. The forest feeds well these days. 

Despite the trouble this has been for you, it does seem like you are keeping interesting company. A Ben-Hassrath spy? Only you, little one. I will keep my horns to the ground as usual, and tell you if anything comes up, but I’m afraid my days of useful information gathering are mostly gone. 

Your clan is well; last I saw them, although tensions are rising with the local human population. I’m sure you will be hearing about that soon. 

This whole situation is halla dung, little one, but you aren’t without allies. I hope you remember that. 

-Ari

* * *

You only cry a little.

* * *

You stare at the supposed grey warden. Well then. 

(You can’t help wonder why you seem to be collecting people like a child collects dolls.)

* * *

You close the breach. There’s a party. 

It all goes to shit, as you should have expected.

* * *

And this is why you didn’t go after the Templars, you want to scream to Cullen, see here, here is your precious order. That is unkind of you though, although you never pretended to be anything else. There is no time, since you are preoccupied with making sure you, and Haven, don’t burn. 

It would be a shame after all those petty errands you ran for these people for them to all die without paying you back.

* * *

Theres a dragon. You’re not even surprised anymore. You pray to Mythal.

* * *

Later you pray to Falon’Din at the sight of the townsfolk’s bodies. Clueless shem’s they might be, but they are your clueless shems. You hope someone will remember to do something with their bodies. You aren’t quite sure what the funeral rites are for shems; but they deserve them.

* * *

The mountain takes care of the bodies. What was earth returns to earth. Yours should have followed them into the gentle sleep, but instead you are left struggling in the frozen landscape. The mark is different now.

* * *

The shem’s find you again. You feel true, unrestrained joy at the sight. 

And then, much like that night all those years ago, you sleep.

* * *

You take all your goodwill towards the shems back. They are weird and singing and kneeling and looking at you like some sort of misplaced awe. 

Solas isn’t much better. You scowl at his back as he walks away. He doesn’t seem to know whether to refer to you as kin or not. He spouts all those words about the Dalish, and then seeks unity when it suits him. 

At least the castle is pretty.


	2. Old Friends.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Ari comes back

You invite the arcanist. She’s a dwarf it turns out. A somewhat eccentric dwarf. You like her.

She takes no bullshit, but her smile takes away any sting that her words might inflict. It is not a talent you have developed. The fact that now you will be able to get even better armour, perhaps even one that won’t catch on fire when you use your more powerful magic, makes you smile.

* * *

Skyhold is a thing to behold, all worn stone and stained glass. You wander about, checking in on your companions, exploring the many paths and passages, imagining what it will look like in a few months, a year. 

You hope you get to see it.

* * *

The gardens are beautiful. You could stay there all day if you could. As it is, you have ideas of ways to make it even better, what plants to plant, what stone you can commission. You talk with the herbalist and although she seems reluctant by the end of the conversation you think you have her convinced. 

Maybe you can get a few vegetable patches built in tiers, set inside the stone and raised for optimal sun. Or a few more trellises set up, a water garden installed. It’s too bad there’s not enough space for a lot of expanding; you almost wish you could demolish the Andraste shrine and set up a hot garden in it’s stead. 

That seems disrespectful, probably.

* * *

  
You get the horse master to come up, and as you pet the nose of the giant beast in the pen, you feel relief that at least these animals will be taken care of. 

It’s more than you can say for your own people, sometimes. 

* * *

Dorian want’s more books, Solas want’s more books, Vivienne want’s more books, Sera want’s arrows, Cassandra want’s Varric’s books and Varric want’s to see Cassandra want Varric’s books, Cole want’s to help, Bull want’s dragons, Blackwall want’s warden stuff (which are sometimes books). 

You want to sleep without someone coming running for more…things. 

* * *

 

You look out at the mountains and bite at your fingers, conflicted.

There is something you will have to do. You are not looking forward to it, but it stands that you really can’t put it off. If you do, you might lose a powerful advantage, but you might also lose a lot of support from your allies. Still, you miss Ari with something more powerful than your fear. The letter you write is hurried, and the decision sits heavy in your gut even as you fetch Leliana’s fastest raven and watch it crest over the horizon. 

Hopefully it will not be too late. 

Then you take a package out of your gear, something that has survived the Breach, Haven, everything the world has tried to throw at you, and you tumble the things inside onto your bed. You’ll need them if the letter finds it mark. 

In the mean time, there are missions to do, companions to soothe, matters both dire and mundane to tend to. The shem’s have continued their trend of heaping all of their issues on your lap, whether you are qualified to deal with them or not. 

You…can’t seem to find the annoyance in that that you used to. Mostly, you expect, because the errands bring you coin and resources that you can then use for more productive things. Like better equipment. 

* * *

 

You’re not expecting a reply from the letter until at least another fortnight, so the last thing you expect is for it to arrive while you are knee deep in bandit entrails on the Storm Coast. You’ve brought Bull along in case you encounter that dragon again, and Varric because you know there’s a deposit of red lyrium somewhere near. Solas you bring out of some misguided want for peaceful conversation, and are quickly regretting it, as you have to listen to him and Bull snipe at each other. Varric is no help either, since he seems to be adding fuel to the fire for the simple want of entertainment. 

Bull notices her first. Not, that you admit with wry amusement, that she was trying to be very sneaky, standing in the middle of the road in front of them. The raven is sitting on her shoulder, nesting in the feather and fur coat that you once described as the love child of a particularly raggedy bear. With her bulk, all 6’5 of it, it is not very far from the truth. 

Your little group slows down, Bull’s hand on his axe and a wary look in his eye. Understandable, you think, considering her very large staff (with it’s blade almost as the size of a regular broadsword), the hood that does nothing to hide the graceful sweep of her horns, and the gleaming metal of her armour. She looks every inch of what she is; a Qunari mage. 

“Da'len, I’m am glad I found you before you returned to your keep.” Ari says, when you finally get in close enough to make out her smile. Behind you, you can hear Solas startle. You beam back. 

“I am a child no longer, Falon, haven’t you heard? These shems have graciously named me their Keeper.” You say, giddy, relieved. 

“You know this woman, boss?” Bull says, shifting his axe onto his shoulder. A deceivingly mellow movement, but you have seen him decapitate someone from that exact position. 

“I was not aware the Dalish dealt with Qunari” Solas says, some strange tone to his voice you don’t have the energy to decipher. 

Ari laughs, as throaty and low as ever. 

“They do, when their youngest mage tries to barbeque the clan because of a nightmare and the only mage strong enough to help happens to be a couple feet taller and horned. I’ve dealt with clan Lavellan for years now.” Ari shrugs her shoulders, casual. If you didn’t know her as well as you do you wouldn’t even know how tense she was carrying herself, attention almost completely on Bull. You wince. Probably not the first companion you would introduce her to willingly. 

A cough from behind you has you sharing a wry glance with Varric, who slings his crossbow back into its resting position and shakes his head. 

“Guys, this is Ari, friend of clan Lavellan. She taught me much of what I know of magic. Ari, the gentleman dwarf Varric Tethras, my favourite non-Dalish mage Solas, and The Iron Bull; article The.” You say, sweeping a hand across your companions. Ari grins, tilting her hood farther back so her eyes are visible. 

Her smile, warm and relieved, knocks loose something in her chest. She does an elegant bow, sweeping her staff in the way you remember, grip loose, non-threatening. 

“A pleasure, I am sure.” She says, lifting her head. 

Suddenly you can’t help it anymore, and the emotions well up inside you like your magic on lyrium, and you bark your laughter and swing yourself into her arms.  
She catches you, like she always catches you, and you can forget for a moment about the Inquisition and Corypheus and all these humans and their nonsense. You feel her magic as a charge just under her skin, and you have missed this so very much. 

* * *

You travel back together. Although you weren’t expecting her so soon (and you still need to ask her how she found you) you are still glad to see her, and you spend the whole trip catching up. You can tell your companions’ curiosity is bursting at the seams, but they are mostly content to let you chatter on without interruption, although there have been a few pointed remarks.

“It’s a bit of a shit show” She says, the heavy thud of her staff a comforting tempo as you walk.

“The amount of demon’s still popping up has kept people in a sense of panic, especially out in the more secluded sections where news doesn’t reach as much. More panic means more bandits of course, and the Templars and mages aren’t much better. Even the wildlife seems to be restless right now. Makes for a dangerous road” Her mouth is cocked in a wry grin. The two of you know all about dangerous roads. 

“Why risk it at all then?” Varric this time, but it is an innocent curiosity, more about the adventure than the person behind it. Ari laughs, a deep but soft sound, and you imagine you can see in her a vast well in her rippling with the noise. 

“There are few things out there that I fear, least of which is unruly Templars and mages, or wolves. I’ve lived on my own for most of my life; where I can’t sneak by danger I am more than capable of dealing with it.” Ari says, wiggling her fingers in the universal symbol for magic. 

“Fair enough.” chuckles Varric. 

“How did you find me though?” You ask, swinging around to walk backwards and face her directly. Besides you, Bull slows down to accommodate your reduced pace as you navigate the terrain blind. “My letter should have taken at least a week to find you, I wasn’t even sure if Leliana’s bird could find you”

“Truly, a clever bird this is. I was camping near a recently burned village; seeing if I could lend my aid when it found me. Nearly ended up in my stew, but it was much too pretty to kill. I only saw your letter after it had helped itself to my entire grain supplies.” Ari runs her fingers gently through the raven’s feathers. 

You snort. 

“And a good thing too, it seems to have gotten attached to you. You were always surprisingly good with the smaller animals in the forest, despite your bulk.” What you don’t say is that she was always surprisingly good with your clan’s halla. That’s not something you would want to tell non-Dalish, even non-clan Dalish about. The relationship between Ari and your clan has always been…singular. 

Which reminds you. 

“And the clan? I’ve only heard candied reports of the situation with Wycome. Is it truly bad?” You ask. 

Ari grimaces. 

“The tension is getting pretty bad, enough that I have a letter from the keeper to ask for help. I have a few ideas for solutions, but you will want your spymaster and ambassador to see it first. I have the funny feeling that there’s more to the whole mess than is being said.” She says.

“Is there trouble with the clan, Lethallin?” Solas asks, a line of tension in his brow. You are once again reminded of his odd behaviour towards the Dalish. 

Both you and Ari scowl. 

“Something of the sort. Bandits, strangely well-equipped bandits, have started targeting them. Keeper Istimaethoriel is getting rather desperate.” Aris says. 

Your mind is already racing. It must be getting rather bad for your Keeper to resort to contacting you for aid. You will definitively have to talk to Leliana to get a better report on the situation. You have the sudden urge to march right back home and send those bandits the biggest fireball you can muster. 

Ari, perhaps catching your expression, quickly changes the subject to one that has less chance of starting a forest fire. 

* * *

So you walk back to Skyhold, with your closest companion of old and the newer ones you seem to be picking up. 

Your thoughts are on your clan, on debts owed, on the fire and darkness that seeps into your thoughts when you think of all you left behind. You are nervous, on how your past and future will meet, how your people (and you are truly starting to think of them as yours) will react. 

But more than anything, you are so very happy. 

* * *

The thing you have to do though? That you need Ari and a package of strange ingredients for? 

It has to do with that night so very long ago, when fire touched your soul and never wanted to let go. 

The thing about magical fire after all, is once it finds a source of power it rarely lets go. And you were such a strong source of power. 

The process of severing yourself to it was complex and left lasting scars on your magic, and now, you have the feeling you will have to open up and swallow the flame again if you want to have the power to confront Corypheus. 

You have been under a handicap this whole time, but even the process of removing it could kill you. 

You think of Ari with her knife and her words, and the glow of healing magic. You think of the silvery scars on your face, how you cant hear in the one ear. You think of how, as you were snatched in the claws of an insane Darkspwn, how your skin sparked and your belly ached with sulphur. 

Maybe it is time to stop pretending. 

* * *

You know you need to tell the advisors, and probably your team, before you lead Ari to a secluded glade and let her open the scars on your magic. You need to introduce her first, sooth worries about bloodmagic, about the risk to your health, convince them of the necessity of it. You know none of them are going to like it. 

Deep in your body you feel the flames already, and you are convinced this is the path you need to take. If you were slightly more egotistical than you are, you would say that this is fated. 

You don’t believe in fate, not like some of your clan do. You think the gods have better things to do than to meddle in people’s lives like that. You kinda wish though, as Skyhold’s peaks rise above the mountains in your view, that you had the backing of at least one godling as you set about a meeting you dread the shape of. 

(You try to tell yourself that you are not scared that they will forsake you, that they will leave or hate you. That they will hear of what you need to attempt and label it bloodmagic and be done with you. That they will lose their trust and faith in you. That they will chase you and Ari away and you will never be able to finish this. You are not afraid, you say.)

You rub your face into soft feathers and tighten your grip on Ari’s back. For the past few peaks you have been letting her carry you, as if you were still an elfling of ten summers. Besides you, Bull is a tense line of muscles disguised in amiability, and Solas seems filled to the brim with a mixture of judgement and curiosity. Of all of them, only Varric seems unaffected, but perhaps that is just because it is so hard to see his face from so high up. 

“I did not actually expect it to be so big.” Ari says, gazing up at the looming stone. 

“I will have to give you a tour when we arrive, although I should really talk with Leliana about the clan as soon as possible.” You mumble into the fluff in your face. You are tired, and with Ari here you think you might actually sleep without dreams of monsters in shadows and fire in your lungs. 

“I could show her around, boss. She might miss some of the more important bits like the tavern and, well, the tavern otherwise.” Bull chuckles, a teasing grin to mask his rather transparent reasons. Ari after all, isn’t one of those acceptable Tal-Vashoth, she escaped directly from the Qun and wasn’t born later. 

“Just because I’m not much of a drinker…!” You say, flailing an arm out to demonstrate your ire. 

“What? But you so loved that blackberry ale that I used to make. Don’t tell me service to the Inquisition has made you lose your touch!” Ari says, laughter in her voice. You lips pinch. 

“Your blackberry ale was all blackberry and no ale. You would never let me touch the strong stuff, so of course once I could I realised I also didn’t have the stomach for it.” You say rather sorrowfully. You had been looking forward to actual alcohol. 

“It’s like giving firewater to a child; messy, there might be crying, and the whole tavern gets lit on fire. Truly worth the cost of new tables.” Varric pipes up, which just make’s you frown harder. Yes the fire, another reason your clan wasn’t all that open with letting you near the homebrew. 

“Well in that case I would love to take you on your offer, The Iron Bull. I wouldn’t miss an excuse to have a taste of what the Inquisition has to offer.” Ari’s grin is light, but you can feel her tension under you. You hope you wont have to get in between a fight with them, or that if they do fight it means they burn off some antagonism and nothing blows up. With Ari that’s always a legitimate concern. 

“I would be interested, after your tour, if you could tell me some of your travels.” Solas declares with interest. “It is not often I get to talk to a fellow apostate so well traveled.” 

You snort. What are you, if not an apostate so well traveled? Although you admit, you have never been to the Qunari regions. 

“I too wouldn’t mind picking your brain for a few stories I’m sure you have, especially if they involve our dear Inquisitor.” Varric says, sidestepping some of the loose stone where the path to the bridge starts. It is still under repairs, you note, but already you can see vast improvement. 

Finally you get to the gates, and you make Ari let you down so you can enter without looking like a child, although that just makes her laugh quietly. You will always be a child to her, you know, not because of age but because of the way your magics are linked. Teacher to student, student to teacher. 

“Well, time to face the music.” You say, and let yourself be ushered in by the scouts scurrying to welcome you. 

* * *

The Tal-Vashoth woman has a dangerous rack of horns, tipped in bronze fighting points, and scars that indicate a past of rebellion even under the Qun. The scars on her lips are the most telling; reserved for the more aggressive saarebas. Every time her staff thuds the ground Bull can’t help but shudder. She’s been peaceful so far, and supposedly a friend of the Boss’s, but that means shit all with Tal-Vashoth. He’s certainly fought enough of them to know. 

A saarebas though, that’s strange. Most of the time they’re too broken to fight back, or too tightly leashed to have the opportunity in the first place. He wonder’s how she did it. 

She’s old for a mage since they have a tendency to burn out quickly under the Qun (he studiously doesn’t think about why that is), experienced and battled scarred. Her leather and steal armour is well taken care of, and of good quality too. The outfit has a distinct Ferelden look too it, but there are hints to her Qunari origins as well. Certain choices in colours, in the thread and the folds. It hint’s of either a handmade nature or of other Tal-Vashoth with the knowledge to craft it. 

Her voice sounds damaged, an old injury, and the careless way she talks about magic and remedies and staying out in the wilderness grates on his nerves. Mage’s shouldn’t know enough to be able to do all that, even ones outside the Qun. They don’t, not unless they’ve had teaching, and no circle would bring in a Qunari mage. 

Then again, if she was close to clan Lavellan, it sort of makes sense. Some of what she talks about certainly seems elven, and her staff is more similar to the Dalish ones that he’s seen than the circle ones. 

His eyes flick back up to her horns and he winces. Although horn tips look decorative, he’s been gouged by enough of them to know their sharpness. Not to mention the amount of dedication it takes to put them in; they have to be sealed to the horns themselves or else they tend to fall off. 

Her hair is braided long, either a nod to vainness or a deliberate taunt, and she leads with her hips when she walks. She’s confident, and cheerful, and absolutely inscrutable. 

It put’s him on edge, and training dictates that he investigates. As far as Intel knows, she doesn’t exist. He want’s to know why there was no mention of her despite all the other information he, and his people, have gathered about the Inquisitor. 

More than that though, he wants to trust the Inquisitor and can’t bear the thought of seeming like a spy, even though he is. It’s startling how much he is starting to get fond of Lavellan, but more than that, it’s startling how even with how much he want’s to figure out the Tal-Vashoth, it’s no longer because it’s his duty. 

He thinks he might be getting protective of the people here. It’s just been the first time that it’s interfered with his beliefs. 

That conflict doesn’t stop him from grabbing the first chance to be with the other Qunari on his own, to try to get a measure of her. Maybe try to figure out if she needs eliminating (he really hopes she doesn’t need eliminating; he doesn’t want to do that to the boss). 

He wave’s to the boss as the group separates, and then is left with the Tal-Vashoth and no backup as both Varric and Solas leave as well. There’s an awkward silence. 

“Drink?” He finally settles on. 

“Oh fuck yes.” Her face settles into one of absolute relief.


	3. A series of conversations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is dialogue

Two qunari walk into a bar. Wait no.

A Tal-Vashoth mage and a Ben-Hassrath spy walk into a bar. The punchline probably involves the bar burning down. 

Bull leads the mage to where the Chargers are sitting playing cards, making a detour to the bar to gather a few pints of ale. He doesn’t say anything until they sit down and the Chargers take note of his guest.

“Chargers, meet Ari, the boss’s teacher from before.” From before the explosion, from before the Inquisition. He makes a quick round of introductions, ignoring the sharp look of interest she sends Dalish. No doubt they will be swapping “archery” techniques later. 

He’s glad the group is here and not wandering around old Templar haunts chasing demons, because the mage is already relaxing more in their presence than she was in the entire walk to Skyhold. He leans back and listens as his boys drag her into a quick game of grace, chatter already building back up.

The basic information get’s quickly snapped up, as the game’s smack talk is liberal dispersed with curious questions, mostly about the boss.

“ ’Dalen was one of those quiet children who masked their mischievousness with manners.” She says, over a blatantly illegal amount of cards. Figures the boss got that cheater’s attitude from somewhere.

“Always hiding frogs in the other children’s beds but remembering to put one in every single one so no one could point fingers. When ‘Dalen first came to me they were as quiet as a mouse, no trouble at all. That didn’t last long.” She chuckles. 

“You call them ‘Dalen? You have a decent grasp on elven then?” Dalish asks, leaning forward in her seat. Skinner has to grasp her by the collar so she doesn’t fall out, already soused.

“Oh sure. I lived with the clan for seven years before ‘Dalen was put into my care, for a couple months there they pretended ignorance as to what common even was. I know Qunlat as well obviously, and basic Tevene. I know enough to swear like an Antivan sailor as well.” The Tal-Vashoth replies, ignoring Rocky’s swearing as Krem soundly beats them all at counting cards.

“You must travel quite a bit” Bull says, nonchalant. A quick smile answers him.

“You get a taste for it when you don’t have the option. I by-passed Tevinter by going through the Anderfels – No offense Krem, and then spent quite a few summers in some nice beaches in Nevarra.  I wandered the Free Marches for quite a few years, joining caravan after caravan and nomads after nomads before happening on the Lavellan clan about twenty years ago.”

“Twenty years?” Stictches yelps, as the group as a whole turns to assess the qunari. She doesn’t look to be more than 30 years, if that.

“How old where you when you, when you left the Qun?” Krem asks, skirting around the question no one seems to have asked yet. 

“Hmm. About 14 I think?” Bull doesn’t react, although he flinches inside. A 14 year old saarebas, dangerous enough to warrant stitching, escaping their Arvaarad. He has so many questions.

Eyebrows go up all around.

“And how ol’ are you now?” Rocky this time. Good old Rocky, not afraid to ask a woman her age.

Ari chuckles again, low and rasping. 

“I’ll be turning, hmm, about 46 this year I believe? Hard to tell when you’re ass deep in the middle of nowhere.”

There’s silence for a few seconds as everyone thinks about that. Ari just looks indulgent.

“Well!” Dalish claps the other mage on the back. “You’re looking good for what these humans would call middle age.”

There’s a vague protestation from Rocky, which everyone ignores. Skinner doesn’t even bother beyond a snort.

“Thanks. Good genes I guess.” Her voice is amused, but she’s staring at Bull as she says it.

 

* * *

 

You leave your companions and Ari to settle in while you climb up the raven’s spire to see Leliana. You could gather people in the war room, but you want to speak to her privately first.

As much as you respect Cullen’s intellect as a commander, and Josephine’s wiles as a diplomat, the advisor you, well trust is a strong word, but who you speak the most with is Leliana. Maybe it has something to do with your experience hiding your magic, or your distrust of human’s in general, but you can appreciate someone who has her foot in every backdoor.

Genriel did say you would make a good hunter, if your magic haden’t manifested like it did. You still have the lock picks he gifted you when he first caught you sneaking pies from storage.

As you climb the stairs, waving to Dorian in the library, you can’t help but imagine who you would be if magic hadn’t gotten its grasp in you. If you had never met Ari or lived under her roof. You think it would have been a lonely childhood.

“Inquisitor? Can I help you?” Leliana asks as she sees you. You smile. Time to organise some chaos.

 

* * *

 

So here’s your plan. While Josephine sends some diplomats to sort out the tension between the town and your clan, Leliana will send in some spies to figure out what’s really going on. If it becomes obvious that there’s some sort of dirty dealing, Leliana will dip into her lovely black book of blackmail and tidy things up. If need be, a group of scouts and soldiers will wait in the hills to deliver a show of force.

You are taking every precaution you can. It’s overkill maybe, but if you can’t wield the might of a fanatical military cult then what’s the point of having a fanatical military cult?

Leliana sends you an arched brow, but doesn’t argue. There’s a small smile in the corners of her mouth.

“One hopes we have inspired such loyalty as well, to manoeuvre the various mights of the Inquisition so skilfully.” It doesn’t sound like a rebuke.

“As long as Josephine keeps those tiny cakes coming, you won’t need to worry about my loyalty.” You wink.

Leliana laughs.

“I suppose everyone has their price.”

 

* * *

 

Later that night you and Ari meet up in the gardens. You watch as she wanders between leafy boxes and runs her fingers along budding flowers and wooden trellises. The Chantry mother has left, but there’s a soldier napping on one of the benches. You are basically alone.

“I like his style” Ari says. There’s only one person she could be talking about.

“He did come out and tell me he was a spy right off the bat. He’s got balls.” You say, amused.

A quick smile. She hums as she feeds a bit of restoration magic into a struggling patch of moss. There’s a small patch of medicinal lichen and fungus growing around a small rock pond, the sound of water tinkling in your mind. 

“It might be an issue though. I haven’t gotten to know any of your other companions, but he does seem suspicious of me and my magic. I don’t think he will relish the idea of me working experimental magic on you.”

“No I don’t suppose he would.” You think.

“Of any of them, Solas is the only one who might be interested positively. If we word it properly Dorian might as well, but we will need to term it so it doesn’t sound like blood magic. Sera is out. Cassandra…might be convinced.”

“And those outside your inner circle? They only need to have positive emotions towards you. I…Know you wish for them to be there and support you during, but it might not be possible.” The reluctances in Ari’s voice is only barely audible.

You swallow.

“Dagna, maybe.  Enchanter Fiona, if we can convince her.” You have to think some more. The problem is the magic involved is borderline blood magic. Or well, not blood magic, but definitively not circle sanctioned. And the people here have no love for non-circle magic.

Ari slings an arm around you.

“Maybe we are thinking about this the wrong way. We can’t be picky about witnesses, but we do need to make sure that you still have a throne to sit on in the end. Who would want to be there, for your safety and the inquisition’s?” Her chest rumbles when she speaks. 

You think about it.

“Solas for the magic, and to reassure the others. Cassandra as a seeker. Of the advisors, I’m not sure who will object the most but I think Cullen will want to be there in case things “go wrong”.” You say, slowly.

“And Cole.” You add.

“The spirit? Be interesting to see how that changes the ritual.” She muses.

You huff.

“I hope it doesn’t make him anxious. It takes him weeks sometimes to pop back up after being spooked.”

Ari smiles.

“We have time. Need to pick up some supplies. And convince people. I was thinking we could section off this whole area” She sweeps her arms to indicate the gardens. “It has the space, and the peaceful aura should help.”

You nod. It’s not like you can do it in the training yards, or find a nice forest glen like the original ritual.

The two of you continue walking, silent for a moment. You bring your gaze up into the setting sky and your anxiety about it all dissipate into the breeze. What will happen, will happen. You can only hope that your friendships and loyalties are strong enough to combat past prejudices. 

It’s not blood magic, you think again. Close enough though.

A nudge from Ari has you breaking away from that train of thought. Her amused face tells you she knows what you were thinking. You grin.

Your magic is based off of Ari’s, who’s magic is not based off of anything but pure grit and elfroot. It’s strange, and frightening sometimes, but it also won’t leave you as a fashionable coat for demons, so it works out.

You’re sure you can convince the others of that as well.

“Well come on then, tell me of your travels. So far I’ve heard very little of what you have been up to since you started wandering again. Found any other magelings to take under your wing?” You are only sort of kidding, Ari has a habit of fostering small animals of all kinds, whether cats or ravens or run away circle children.

A laugh answers you.

 

* * *

 

A silent figure watches the two as they make their rounds around the garden. Solas has a book propped in his long fingers, but his attention is solely on the Inquisitor and her teacher.

A strange pair, the two of them make. The height difference alone makes for an eye raise, never mind the incongruity it is to see such very different races chat as family.

Although they are both mages, he supposes, which makes up for a lot.

It also explains a lot that had been niggling at his mind. The way the Inquisitor castes, for one, and the seemingly endless amounts of plants. Elfroot of course, but also everyday milk grass, and mosses. Deathroot in abundance but never for the poisons it’s named after. The gardens are one part medicinal cabinet and one part overgrown weed propagator.

The Inquisitor favours fire magic, despite the scars that make it impossible for Vallaslin to show in anything but the most broken patterns. But the fire that comes out is often hotter than it should, a blue or white flame. When casting lighting magic he swears arcs of energy continue sparking long after the spell should be over.

He could contribute it to the anchor, and the way the fade practically dances about near it, but it feels like more than that.

The way the Inquisitor casts is disjointed, and inconsistent, and yet insanely powerful. He swears under certain light it seems like their staff is inscribed with veilfire runes.

He’s been waiting for a chance to talk to Lavellan about it, but has waited to not appear as if he is trying to accuse them of anything. Now that the teacher is in the picture though, his curiosity is that much greater.

He will have to sit down with the qunari mage and figure out what she knows.

Because for all that it isn’t elven magic, it has the same sort of flavour Mithal used to play with before the end.

Solas brings the hand not clutching a priceless treatise on the practical and theoretical magic of the Chasind to his brow to rub away a linger ache.

Figures the anchor would pick a host suited to drive him to madness. Not to mention he actually likes the Inquisitor, and it makes what all his plans slightly awkward.

With one last glance at the two, he turns from the doorway and wanders back to his study. He suddenly knows exactly what he is going to paint on the last fresco.

 

* * *

 

Cole stares at the woman with the horns unblinkingly. She’s familiar in a way his thoughts shy away from, a haze around her in patterns so bright it would make his eyes water if such a thing was possible. He’s still, silent, forgotten. Her eyes meet his, and slowly, she winks.

 


End file.
